Ghosts
by Zion Angel
Summary: A backstory about - who else? - our beloved Ghost. Written for The Looking Glass Forum fourth fanfiction challenge.


Written for the fourth fic challenge on The Looking Glass Forum, regarding a known event in a character's past. It has now been edited, so there shouldn't be any icky grammar/spelling issues, and everything makes sense. :) Enjoy.

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Ghosts

By ZionAngel

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Rob came back into the cell with that look again. James had forgotten it was Sunday, and right now he was really regretting it. Had he remembered, he might have been better prepared to deal with the inevitable chatter that started right on schedule, when Rob made it to his bottom bunk. But it didn't matter. James would have only been able to block out about half of it, anyway.

He didn't know how he was going to make it through the next two years until he turned eighteen, if four months in here was already enough to make him seriously consider suicide. Somehow, being in a physical prison, sharing a cell with a boy who would not give him a moment's peace, did something that for fifteen years he had not believed was possible. The feeling was infinitely more unbearable in here. Even before he was sent here, it had always been there, always pressing in on his mind like its only purpose was to crush him with the weight of the world. The feeling never left him, no matter where he went or what he did, it was always looming, threatening to destroy him if he could not find the strength to fight it off. Its persistence was so complete that for most of his childhood, he only tolerated and tried to work through it, thinking that every other child around him felt the same weight on their shoulders. He was nine, maybe ten when he finally realized that most people didn't go through life struggling to focus on the physical objects right in front of their faces, didn't feel like they were never fully awake, like some ghost was following them with every step, clouding every thought that went through their minds and covering life with a thin layer of sadness and insanity that refused to leave.

But at least in those days, he thought as he heard the huge lock on the door slide into place, he could almost escape his ghosts for a few moments, sometimes. If he was deeply, deeply focused on something else, he sometimes forgot about them. It never lasted, of course, and it was probably just such an attempt at distraction that got him in trouble to begin with, but it still happened occasionally. But that was impossible here. In a ten foot, windowless cell, there was nothing to concentrate on enough to forget, and somehow these walls just reminded him of the ghosts more. They were always hovering over him, and there just wasn't enough space for that in here.

"And Dan said something really amazing today -" Dan was the new prison chaplain, Baptist or something like that. "He was talking about how people are always trying to find fulfillment in things, money and stuff, you know? But that never works, but he was saying that in a way we're lucky to be in here, because we _can't_ have things, right? So it's easier for us to find God than it is for most people."

James hated Dan. There was a lot of talk about him just a few days after he started working there, everybody else was saying how great he was, and how just one talk with him had changed their lives, blah blah blah. James decided he might as well go to one service - he was miserable as it was, why not take a chance and see if he could get the same kind of happiness and fulfillment everyone else claimed to have found. So he went, and he listened, and in some inexplicable way, it just felt utterly wrong. He did not feel touched by God, he did not feel happiness or inspiration or hope. He felt only his ghosts as he walked back to his cell afterwards, and they were stronger than ever. It just didn't fit him, and the fact that Dan's charisma seemed to have spread through the whole prison did not help matters.

"You know what?" Rob announced once he had finished rambling on about Dan's greatness and his wonderful new relationship with God. "I'm gonna write my sister a letter. Evelyn's got plenty of problems herself. The stuff Dan's been talking about would do her a lot of good." He sat down at the built-in desk and started writing. Afer writing a few words, he turned to look up at James on the top bunk. "You know, you should really come to the service next week, or maybe talk to Dan one-on-one sometime. God can really help you through tough times like these, man."

He didn't answer.

--

Maybe if he moved between the bookshelves quickly enough, quietly, the ghosts would loose him. Maybe they would finally give up, and leave him alone. Maybe they would even be trapped in the maze of books forever, and would never hover over him again.

He saw the clock as he passed between the shelves. He wasn't allowed to be in there for very long, he might as well _try_ to find something interesting to read while he was there, not just waste time in a hopeless pursuit.

It was mostly novels in there. Some were the classics, others were newer. None of them seemed very interesting. The next shelf over was a smaller selection of nonfiction books. Not surprisingly, most of them were religiously oriented, personal stories he had absolutely no interest in reading. With only two or three minutes left before he would be forced to return to his cell, he was about to give up. He ran a finger along the edge of the shelf, clearing away a thin layer of dust as he absently glanced at the titles. He was paying no real attention to the words he was seeing, but for some reason, one book made him stop. It was a very old hardcover, with half of the spine torn away, and the exposed paper was yellowed with age. What was left of the spine read "Western Philosophy."

His time was up, and for no particular reason he could understand, he took the book from the shelf and checked it out.

--

Whatever it had been that compelled him to pick up the book in the first place followed him to his cell and up to his bunk, where he opened the book and began reading. He didn't know much about philosophy. A couple of teachers had mentioned it, back when he was still in school, but never went into much detail about it. But as he read further and further into the text, as he began to read things that actually made sense, he was starting to think that something had been following him, just for a few moments, that was stronger than the ghosts. Something that had guided him to this book, and as crazy as that sounded, he could come up with no other explanation, because the things he was reading seemed to have the power to explain his ghosts to him. Not to explain them away, or to fight them, but at least to explain their existence.

It took James two days to finish the book, although it would not have taken so long if he had been able to read as late into the night as he wanted. After that, he managed to find two or three smaller books on philosophy in the library, all of which he finished faster than the first. The best way he could explain it to himself was to was to compare it to religion for half the other guys in the prison. But even this comparison did not fit, as this philosophy did so much more for him than whatever Dan said on Sundays did for the others. This gave him a way to make sense of the world, to make sense of his ghosts, and to finally begin to comprehend everything that seemed to have gone wrong in his life. It was something to hold on to, something to comfort him and make him believe he might one day find something better than this. It made him actually think and use his mind for the first time in what must have been a couple of years by now, and made him take an active role in the formation of his own reality, rather than letting someone else do it for him.

--

He was in the middle of a thin paperback about Buddhism which the librarian had recommended when Rob threw a crumpled paper across the room, and growled something angry and incomprehensible. "Bitch."

"What?" James asked.

"That," he muttered with a frustrated laugh, "was a letter from my sister. _Apparently_ I was wrong, Evelyn _doesn't_ have a problem. She _doesn't_ have some crazy, ungodly delusion stuck in her head. And she _doesn't_ want me sending her any more letters if I'm 'just going to try and convert her with them.'"

"What do you mean 'delusion'?" James asked.

"I _mean_ that she somehow thinks that... how'd she put it?" His voice took on a mocking tone as he imitated his sisters words. "'The world isn't real,' or 'There's something else out there.' Never could tell anybody what it was, never actually able to tell anybody else what this _feeling_ of hers was like, but it was there, all right, and we just all _have _to believe her."

James was sitting up by then, staring down at Rob incredulously. "What did she mean 'not real'? What else did she say about that?"

"I just told you," Rob barked back up at him, "that she never told anyone what the fuck she meant! And what do you care anyway?"

Seeing that it would get him nowhere, James opted not to reply, and simply laid back down, shocked to hear, for the first time in his life, someone else speak the words that had been running through his head for sixteen years.

--

After a moment, James realized that he had stopped reading his book. He reluctantly flipped to the back and read, yet again, the small slip of paper tucked between the last page and back cover. There was no real benefit in looking, he had memorized the address by now, but he couldn't help himself. It was Rob's address, where his parents and sister lived, where he supposedly planned to go - and stay - after turning eighteen and getting out two months ago. He'd handed the address out like candy before leaving, telling all his friends to come and visit him if they ever got a chance. But that wasn't why James had written the address down - it wasn't Rob he was interested in visiting.

There had been about six, maybe seven months between the day Rob first mentioned his sister's "delusions" and the day he got out. It was a delicate and potentially explosive topic to bring up, but James was far too curious to let it go. She was the only person he had ever heard of who felt the same way he did. In a way, Evelyn - or rather, what little information he had been able to coax out of Rob about her - had almost done more for him than the many philosophers he still read about whenever he could. They taught him to understand his ghosts, and not be frightened by their presence. But this girl, the sister of a former cellmate whom he had never even met, taught him that he was not alone in this, gave him the strength and hope to believe that maybe he could defeat these ghosts, and one day be rid of them completely.

She was the source of that hope, and that was why he kept this address tucked away. If he found her and ever managed to get her to give him a chance, he could draw on her strength and be free.

--

It was his second day out when he found her house. It was old and tiny, but it looked like the family took care of it well enough. For the third time, he compulsively pulled the old paper out of his pocket - it was barely holding itself together by now - and confirmed the address. From the bottom step of the porch, he stared up at the dark, heavy clouds in the sky, wondering if they were a good sign or bad, or if they were nothing at all. Finally, he took a deep breath, walked up the three steps, and rang the doorbell.

He waited, and after several seconds, rang again. It was another moment before the thought occurred to him that there may be no one inside to hear it. But before he could manage a groan, a voice spoke up behind him. "Who are you looking for, dear?" He turned around to find an elderly couple carrying a few grocery bags.

"I, uh," he muttered, stepping down from the porch. "I'm looking for someone who lives here - or, I hope she still lives here, anyway - Evelyn? Evelyn Bradshaw?"

"Oh, yes," the woman replied, "she still lives here. We just saw her walking that way," she pointed in the direction she had just come from. "You could probably catch her if you hurry."

He was already running off in that direction while yelling a thank-you before the woman was finished. It had begun to rain, but after a few moments he could see a female figure far down the street. He kept running, and he was soaked by the time he reached her, but he barely noticed. "Hey!" he called after her when he got close. She was soaked too, clutching a thin sweater around her. Her long black hair was pulled back in a loose braid that clung to her back. "Are you Evelyn?"

He was a few steps behind her, and she turned to him with a surprised look. James had vaguely imagined her face before, but he hadn't expected her to look quite as beautiful as she did. She looked nothing like her brother, and her ice-blue eyes were the most prominent difference. "What?"

He remembered why he had come, and followed her stride more closely. "I said, are you Evelyn?" he panted, breathless from running, and finally being face to face with her.

"Who are you?"

"My name is James, I used to know your brother -"

The last word drew a fierce and powerful glare from her, but he saw it for only a moment before she doubled her speed to pull away from him. "Well you're not going to know me," she growled. "I don't want to have _anything _to do with any of my brother's friends."

Panic surged through him as she moved further and further away, and he ran after her, stammering anything he could think of to gain her trust. "No, I'm not his friend! I -"

She suddenly stopped and turned to him, her terrifying eyes stopping him in his tracks. "No? Then how do you know him?"

As he spoke the words, he knew they could only hurt him, but he had to be honest with her. "He was my cell mate for a while," he sighed.

"_Cell mate_? Wonderful." She turned on her heel and continued on her way. "Have fun robbing little old ladies with him?"

He didn't know what he was doing, or how he was supposed to make her listen, so he just listened to his instinct, and did whatever came to mind first. "_Please_, just listen to me," he begged as he ran ahead of her. He was only greeted with the glare again, but he managed to overcome it the third time. "I'm not your brother and I couldn't stand him any more than you can. Somebody I knew tried to rob a bank and got me involved, but that's not me anymore, and that's not the point. Your brother talked about you sometimes, he said -"

"I was delusional," she barked angrily, but he could hear a bit of pain in her voice. "Yeah, I know."

"Will you just shut up and listen to me for a minute?!" he shouted, his emotions getting the better of him. "I believe you!"

And incredibly, she stopped. She didn't turn and glare at him, she didn't yell... she just stopped.

James sighed in relief. "Everything he said you thought is _exactly_ what I've always felt." He slowly walked around to face her. She seemed disarmed, afraid, even, hugging herself tightly and staring at the sidewalk with rain running down her face. "I feel like I never really wake up, like... like nothing I see is really there. I feel like _I'm_ not really here, like none of this is real. Please, I've wanted to meet you since your brother told me about you. I just want to... to finally talk to someone else who feels this way so I know I'm not completely insane." As he said the words, he felt something in her. She was even stronger than he had imagined she would be, and the strength was radiating out from her like an aura. And the incredible thing about it was, just by standing beside her, his ghosts were weaker. It was as if she was powerful enough to destroy them, and they knew it and were afraid.

Finally, her eyes turned up to him - only her eyes, every other part of her remained motionless. "You're serious?" she whispered. "This isn't some cruel joke?"

"No."

She looked away from him again, but stood straighter and sighed. "All right, look..." She sighed again, heavier this time, and finally met his eyes straight on, with no anger or animosity, only cautious acceptance. "I've been contacted by some other people who said they can tell me why I feel this way." She seemed hesitant, but managed to continue, slowly. "You can come with me, if you want."

He could only smile.


End file.
